Death comes for us all in the end.
Young, old, fat, thin, smart, dumb, happy, and unhappy. All live. As all must die. After a while, it gets kind of repetitive for death's day labourers. But hey, a job's a job.
Bill Murray is dead. Don't worry, it's not a big deal. He's long over it.
The sun beats down across dry desert sands far off in every direction. This is Bill's 20th tour of Afghanistan, and he's bored as shit, but he does good work. Army doctors and nurses are always in short supply. People getting shot, getting blown up, getting infected. Reapers in the army have some of the best turnover rates in the business.
When Bill first meets John, they get along really well. Bill doesn't like befriending the living much, but this one has a dry, sarcastic sense of humour, at least. Bill wants this guy make it back to England and die peacefully, popped by a kind representative from Circulatory Systems at the age of 85, but Bill also knows not to get his hopes up. That is why he's here, after all.
Bill does get to see John go home. But he's almost certainly not going to make it further than a couple lonely months and a push to the pavement by a callous druggie from External Influences.
And it's mostly Bill's fault. If he hadn't made friends, he could have been shot and "bled out" and no one else would have gotten hurt. He would have been fine after. But John tried to save him, and got shot too.
John shouldn't have been so selfless.
Bill shouldn't have been so nice.
Mason didn't much care for Seattle, but he kind of missed the guaranteed daily chatter with the rest of the division. George was here with him at least, so that was nice. They (George) rented a nice little flat in central London and Mason occasionally pitched in with pocket lint, spare change, and random stolen valuables. George got their (her) shopping done and Mason checked the mail every day for info packets on the next reaps. He usually spent most of his time on the streets, reaping and smoking and stealing whatever he could pilfer off the bodies. She worked for a temp agency, generally doing data entry and secretarial stuff. They settled into a routine.
George's undead name was still Millie Hagen, and Mason's was changed to William Wiggins. He didn't like it.
When Sherlock Holmes jumped off the roof of St. Bartholomew's Hospital on June 15th, 2012, the world believed him dead.
Well, the living world.
The undead were another matter. Word of big name reaps travels fast in the reaper community, and everyone was buzzing to know just who popped the famous detective. (Would have had to be by EI division of central London) It didn't take more than a week for the truth to appear: no one got his name at all.
Sherlock Holmes, therefore, was not dead.